Mischance Read online

  In the distance thunder rumbled. A summer storm was brewing and Jacob had some miles yet to travel. He hoped to be safe inside his office when the tempest broke.

  Chapter 2

  How long had it been since Jacob Whitney had left? Catherine did not know, nor did she care. Time had lost all meaning. The room began to darken with the onset of the storm and the glorious sunlight, which had bathed her in its glow, was now obscured by dark, angry clouds. Shadows crept across the floor and hid in corners, but Catherine chose to remain at the window, watching the trees sway and dance with the rhythm of the storm.

  Standing still and barely breathing, she became a ghostly figure in the half light. In direct opposition to her physical body, her mind was in frantic turmoil as she turned to the news Jacob Whitney had given her. Believing herself to be alone, Catherine had been given the gift of a kinsman. It was the salvation that snatched her back from the edge of despair, and though the thought was both exciting and confusing, she made herself push it to the back of her mind. It could be taken out and examined later when she could give it the attention it deserved. What she needed to do now was focus her thoughts on the person responsible for bringing such a momentous change to her life. The man she loved with all her heart. The man who had brought her to this crossroad, and who had cruelly abandoned her there.

  How many nights had passed since that terrible, awful day? Nights filled with bitter tears for both her loss and the fear of an uncertain future. She had known deep in her heart remaining at The Hall would not be possible, but she had clung stubbornly to the faint hope that a way might present itself. Perhaps she could stay in one of the smaller cottages dotted about the estate. Lord knows there were enough of them, abandoned by tenants who had once shared in the prosperity they had all enjoyed. But now she was faced with having to leave the only home she had ever known, and live her life with strangers. Her daily existence dependent on someone she’d had no idea lived or breathed when she had awoken this morning. A person with whom she had a familial connection, and who, in turn, had one with her. Would it make a difference, or would he resent the disruption her sudden appearance in his life was certain to bring?

  The crash of thunder overhead seemed like an ominous warning, telling her she could not hold her father entirely to blame for what had happened. She had to accept her own share of responsibility.

  Catherine should never have agreed to attend Edward Barclay’s birthday hunt and ball. If she had said no, then her father would be alive still. But wishing something hadn’t happened would not make it so, and it had been so long since she had been riding. It had taken her father barely six months to rid the Davenport stable, once the pride of the county, of all its inhabitants, leaving only the scent of hay and horses lingering in the air. Catherine had thought it would take longer to bankrupt the estate, but from what Mr. Whitney had told her today, her father had managed to achieve it in less time than she would have thought possible.

  So where had he found the money to have a new riding habit and ball gown made for her? She hadn’t thought to ask at the time, and it mattered little now. She sighed, and in the gloom heard her father’s voice asking once again, “Would you like to attend a ball?”

  “Who is giving a ball?” she’d responded, hesitantly.

  It had been a long time since they had received an invitation. All the respectable families in the county no longer thought them suitable to be included at any gathering. Catherine had narrowed her eyes and viewed her father with suspicion, wondering if he was as sober as he appeared.

  “Lord Fitzroy Barclay,” he answered. He held out the missive so she might read it for herself. “It would seem that young Edward has come home.”

  Catherine scanned the elegant script addressed to her father, turned it over, and saw the seal remained unbroken. Excitement fluttered inside her like a caged bird desperate to break free. Raising her brows, she looked at her father, who waved a hand, giving his permission for her to break the seal. A hunt, with a ball to follow, in order to celebrate the return of Lord Barclay’s only son and heir, Edward.

  “Edward has truly returned home?” she murmured, seeking confirmation.

  “Apparently so,” her father replied.

  Catherine smiled. She had fond memories of Edward. Only a few years older than she, he had been her childhood friend. Until Lady Barclay questioned the wisdom of her son spending so much of his free time with a playmate who was rapidly looking less childlike with each passing day. After that, it seemed all of Edward ‘s time was occupied with pursuits more befitting the station he would one day assume.. And it was no secret her father thought Edward would be a good match, and actively encouraged his daughter in that direction. But Catherine knew whatever affection Edward might hold for her, he would never disappoint his mother. To Lady Barclay, Catherine was disappointment personified. Her ladyship had far loftier goals for her only son.

  But now Edward was returned, and no longer a boy, but a grown man. Feeling a nostalgic twinge of regret for what had been lost, Catherine wondered if he had any idea how much she had valued their friendship. He had been her only confidant, someone with whom she shared her hopes and dreams with no fear of ridicule. Easing the pangs of loneliness, Edward had become so much more than a playmate.

  She was filled with a certain natural curiosity. How much had he changed? Would she recognize him? Would he recognize her? Could they rekindle their friendship? Would he want to? Sensing the sudden melancholy shift in her mood, William leaned forward in his seat. “It would be a shame to waste your new clothes if you decide not to accept,” he told her with a glint in his eye.

  The day of the hunt dawned clear and bright with a brilliant blue sky. Lord Barclay had thoughtfully sent a carriage, and Catherine was almost giddy with excitement. Her father had made it a point to remain sober, and seemed equally enchanted by his daughter’s enthusiasm and high spirits. It was going to be a good day. Rides had been promised to each of them, and Lord Barclay, knowing Catherine’s prowess as a horsewoman, had promised a mount worthy of her.

  Although it was spring, it was still early enough in the season for a slight chill to be in the morning air. Catherine gratefully accepted a cup of hot, spiced wine as she joined the milling crowd of hunters and hounds. She noted a few familiar faces and was gracious to those who acknowledged her, while ignoring the more hostile looks thrown her way. It seemed her presence was ruffling some feathers.

  At the sound of raised voices, she turned her head to follow the commotion. Most eyes were fixed on the magnificent bay-colored stallion that had appeared, but Catherine observed the groom leading him. No stable boy but an experienced older hand, and judging from the grim line of his mouth, the bead of sweat on his brow, and the straining biceps in his upper arm, his charge was not as easy to handle as the man would have his audience believe. Clearly the stallion was a valuable addition to Lord Barclay’s stable. As if on cue, the horse suddenly tossed his head and reared up, snorting loudly as his forelegs danced in midair before his hooves clattered loudly back to the ground.

  “High spirited,” Catherine murmured in appreciation.

  Those standing close enough to hear her nodded in agreement, before suddenly scrambling out of the way as both groom and horse came to a stop. True to his word, Edward’s father had found a ride worthy of her. He looked on with an expression of approval as she fearlessly placed her foot in the groom’s cupped hands and was boosted into the saddle, taking firm command of the headstrong animal.

  Dressed in dove grey silk with an ivory stock at her throat, she was a vision who managed to turn the head of every man present. And not just for her skill at handling a potentially willful animal. The other women present, including those joining the hunt, were not so dazzled, but Catherine didn’t care. They could stare and mutter all they wanted. She would allow nothing to spoil this day for her.

  Aware that she was now under even more scrutiny,
Catherine turned to her host and gave him a dazzling smile. She touched the handle of her riding crop to the brim of her hat, acknowledging the compliment he had paid her. Lord Fitzroy Barclay smiled back, knowing that whatever gossip his favoritism caused, she would treat it with the contempt it deserved.

  “Cat!”

  Only one person called her by that name, and he had given it to her after witnessing her walk barefoot across rafters in the hay barn as surefooted as any feline. Turning her mount’s head, Catherine scanned the crowd for the familiar face. Her mouth fell open. “Edward?” she queried, feeling suddenly shy and awkward as she watched the handsome man coming toward her.

  This was not the lanky playmate she remembered. Where was the boy who helped her collect tadpoles while sharing a bounty of wild blackberries that stained both lips and fingers? What had become of the shy lad, barely sixteen, who had plucked up enough courage to kiss her in the hay loft only a few summers ago? Had he really been replaced by the handsome, confident young man before her?

  He smiled at her, and suddenly the Edward of her childhood, her one and only friend, was looking at her once more. And this time when she repeated his name, her delight was genuine. Leaning forward in the saddle, he wrapped his free arm about her waist and kissed her cheek.

  The newly acquired mustache tickled and made Catherine giggle as she asked, “Edward, is it really you?”

  He laughed back. “Of course it’s me, you silly goose. Who were you expecting?” His voice sounded the same, though admittedly a little deeper than she remembered.

  “You look different,” Catherine observed shrewdly.

  “I’ve grown up, Cat,” Edward told her, pausing to look her over, “and so have you. You’re positively beautiful.” His words brought an unexpected blush to her cheeks. “And every woman here wants to scratch your eyes out because of it!” he added playfully.

  “That’s only because you make them jealous with your foolish compliments,” she reprimanded.

  Beyond his shoulder, Catherine caught sight of Lady Barclay giving her a piercing stare. It was no secret that many in the county had expected Edward to offer for her, but Catherine knew better. As long as the current Lady Barclay had a say in her son’s future, a marriage between them would never happen. Besides, she had heard a rumor that Edward was engaged. It would certainly explain the look on his mother’s face.

  “So tell me,” she asked, deciding to deal with the matter head on. “Which one is your fiancée? Point her out to me so I can be sure to share at least one embarrassing childhood memory.”

  “Cat, I am not yet engaged,” Edward said, sounded genuinely aggrieved.

  “Not from lack of trying on your mama’s part I’ll wager!”

  Her horse snorted impatiently and shook his head, deciding he’d had more than enough of their conversation. Nudging him forward, Catherine gave Edward a smile that said she spoke in jest. The grin he offered in return wiped away the loneliness that had been her only companion for far too long.

  “Will you come visit me, Edward, now that you are home?” she asked as his horse fell in step and they moved to join the other riders.

  “Only if you promise to dance with me tonight,” he replied with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

  Catherine’s laugh was a sweet sound that carried on the light breeze. “As if I could refuse so handsome a man!” She tilted her head toward him. “Papa has brought me a ball gown,” she confided in a whisper.

  “I’ve seen you in a party dress before.”

  “Not one like this, you haven’t!” She urged the big horse forward and left him to stare at the animal’s powerful hindquarters as they moved away.

  It was in all likelihood one of the last hunts of the season and certainly the last one for Catherine, but she cared nothing for that. All she wanted was the sheer joy of wind in her face and the horse moving powerfully beneath her. Oblivious to the other riders, she laughed out loud as her mount sailed effortlessly over fallen trees and covered the ground with fluid grace. Just when she was certain the day couldn’t be more perfect, she heard a cry of alarm, followed by the unmistakable sound of a rider being unseated.

  Reining her mount, Catherine wheeled her horse’s head around to see who had fallen. She hoped it wasn’t Edward because that would be too humiliating, especially as the day was to honor him. Shading her eyes with one hand, she quickly spotted a horse who seemed quite content to graze now he had no rider directing him.

  Catherine frowned. The animal looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until it raised its head and she saw the white blaze that she recognized it as the one her father had been riding. A chill gripped her, and with a morbid sense of urgency she rode toward the group of riders now milling about the solitary animal. Grasping the hand that reached up to her, Catherine quickly dismounted and made her way past the spectators to the crumpled figure lying on the ground. From the onlookers’ stricken expressions, she knew something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. The horse had stumbled and thrown its rider, and in a senseless, freakish accident, William Davenport had broken his neck.

  Falling to her knees by his side, Catherine grasped his hand, as if by willpower alone she could pass her own life force into him. But her father did not move. He did not open his eyes to look at her, nor did his chest rise with the intake of breath. Instead Catherine watched as her tears made dark stains on the fabric of his riding jacket. More people had now stopped, and the crowd pressed around her making the air oppressive and difficult to breathe. Letting go of her father’s hand, she pulled off her hat and tore the delicate material at her throat. She tugged on the collar of her riding jacket, ripping loose some of the small pearl buttons in her effort to be free of the constricting garment.

  A pair of firm hands closed about her upper arms and raised her to her feet. She let out a shuddering gasp as she struggled against them, but Edward pulled her against him and led her away from her father’s body. With a grip of iron he held her close to his side, shielding her from the staring faces, until she was standing next to her horse. He let go of her only long enough to boost her into the saddle, and then he mounted behind her, and took the reins. Edward took off the way they had come, but not before Catherine heard a voice refer to her father as a drunken fool.

  Wisely, Edward avoided the main house, choosing instead to go directly to the stables, where he took Catherine into the relative privacy of an empty stall. With his strong arms around her, she cried herself out, clinging to him as if she were drowning and he was her only salvation. She had no idea how long they remained there, Edward holding her even after her tears had dried, but by the time Lady Barclay came looking for them, the groom who accompanied her held a lamp to light the way.

  As tragic as the event was, her ladyship informed them, Edward had an obligation to his guests and Catherine could no longer selfishly command his time. An escort had been arranged to take her back to The Hall. Unable to speak, she heard Edward speaking for her. He argued vehemently with his mother, the rise and fall of his voice indicating the depth of his feelings. She appreciated how he tried to stand up for her, but it made no difference because he didn’t come back. Not then, not the next day, not anytime thereafter. He sent no word, no note of explanation, and when she wrote, over a week later, her note came back with the seal unbroken. Cook told her that Barclay Manor had been closed up, and the family had gone to the West Country with no idea of when they might return. The news produced another wave of grief. Edward had broken his promise to visit her, and in doing so, had shown he was not ready to become the man she hoped he could be.

  A sudden clap of thunder overhead startled Catherine out of her reverie, bringing her back to the present. The storm was venting its fury, and rain lashed against the window. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, unaware of the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks and splashed onto the bodice of her gown. In a voice filled
with an aching loneliness and fear of the unknown, she cried out to the storm raging outside, “Why, Papa? Why did you leave me so?” Only the wind and the rain answered her as the storm continued to beat its own fierce tattoo against the glass.

  The abyss that had loomed earlier reappeared, and this time Catherine needed no encouraging whisper to tell her what to do. Stepping over its edge into oblivion, she sank to the floor, swallowed up in a pool of inky black material.

  Chapter 3

  Isabel Howard considered herself the most fortunate of women. A fortuitous introduction at the age of fifteen had lifted her from obscurity into the bed of a man almost thirty years her senior. She had shed no tears of regret or sorrow when he’d had the good manners to die after six years of marriage, and had emerged from the requisite period of mourning a young, beautiful, and now very wealthy widow.

  The generosity of her late husband’s estate was such that it allowed Isabel the freedom to live her life exactly as she pleased. In the past five years she had managed to gain a reputation that, though tainted with notoriety, was never risqué enough to exclude her from any guest list. Men found her irresistible, while her own sex was torn between outrage over her latest exploit, and envy at the courage it took to behave as she liked.

  With no desire to encumber her lifestyle by the bothersome addition of another husband, Isabel chose to amuse herself with a wide variety of lovers. Young or old, married or single, it made no difference. She would tumble a stable hand as readily as a duke if he caught her fancy, and the encounter could last a single night or longer, depending on how quickly her interest waned.

  The men she chose were more than willing to bed the beautiful young widow, and those currently unattached hoped to change her marital status. But Isabel was shrewd enough not to let her heart rule her head. Too many of her sex fell prey to false promises delivered by a silver tongue in a handsome face, and Isabel refused to lose her fortune to either. She’d decided long ago that were she to wed again, it would be to a most remarkable man indeed.